


burnt sugar

by roseflavored



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Blowjobs, Choking, Frotting, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseflavored/pseuds/roseflavored
Summary: As a lower level demon, Suhø just needs one more soul to rise in the ranks. But something’s a little off about his next target.[ For "Angels/Demons" in Top!soo Fest Round 3 ]
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Junmyeon | Suho
Comments: 9
Kudos: 127
Collections: top!soo fest: round 3 (2019-2020)





	burnt sugar

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: there is one instance of sexual choking that wasn't previously negotiated, so click away if that's not your thing. this is also unbeta’d, so any and all mistakes are my own! 
> 
> HUGE thank you to the mods for being so understanding and accommodating; i literally owe u my life! this was a lot of fun, and i hope you enjoy reading!

Suhø stares into the bathroom mirror, kohl-lined eyes squinting as he fusses with his hair for the third time in five minutes. His short fingers carefully arrange and rearrange stray pieces of bright red hair. It’s been meticulously styled up to resemble two little devil horns atop his head, a piss-poor imitation of the ones he has yet to gain. 

“That’ll change in due time,” he whispers to himself. One more soul, that’s all he needs. He just has to corrupt one more soul, and he’ll finally rise up the ranks and go from incubus to a high level demon, earning his coveted horns in the process. Then, he’ll crush the windpipe of every demon who’s ever made a snide comment about him being the oldest demon in recent history who still hasn’t received his horns, every demon who’s ever compared him to a jungle cat that’s been declawed, every demon who’s ever whispered about him being ‘too soft’––Hell’s population would soon decrease by half.

Suhø exits the restroom and walks with confidence back into the crowded hotel restaurant, nearly salivating when he’s immediately hit with the scent of innocent souls. The actual aroma itself differs depending on the individual demon and their subjective tastes: recently laundered sheets on a spring day, the exhaust fumes from a petrol car, the musk of a twenty-five year old woman that hasn’t showered in weeks. 

To Suhø, who often denied himself from indulging in things like sweets and breads in order to maintain the perfect and chiseled body he was often praised for as a mortal, it’s the inside of a bakery. There’s a young couple sitting at a table near him, hands intertwined as they discuss their long futures together. The air around them is sweet, the scent of yeast strong as he imagines bread rising, reminiscent of the days when he’d open the door to his local bakery and just inhale. It makes his stomach growl.

He has to shake his head slightly to ward off the temptation. “Time and place, Suhø, time and place.”

There are other, more grotesque scents floating about as well, a sign that some souls are already in the beginning stages of corruption as their essences slowly spoil. There are several that have almost completely turned, and Suhø nearly gags as he passes a table of men in tailored suits with pretty women on their arms, the sleeves of their dress shirts pulled all the way up to show off rows of designer watches. The rotten scent is strongest there, and it takes a Herculean level of strength for Suhø to not vomit on the spot. 

Honestly, that’s why it’s taken Suhø so long to garner enough corrupted souls to earn his horns––not because he’s ‘too soft’ or whatever. It’s because the stench. He can’t stand it, never could. The first time he successfully corrupted a soul, he threw up the contents of his stomach all over the shoes of the demon supervising him (lucky for him most demons, his supervisor included, aren’t nearly as fussy when it comes to such matters). Even worse, as an incubus, the fastest and most productive method of turning a soul involves having sex with the target. Other incubi Suhø’s encountered have no problem with this, but Suhø finds it especially difficult to maintain a hardon when the person he’s fucking starts smelling like wet sewage and rotten eggs.

Even standing in a room full of the highest ranking demons can leave him feeling queasy, causing him to always stand close to the nearest bathroom or trash can during important meetings and events. It’s also why he takes frequent showers and bathes himself in eau de parfum every other hour just to mask the stench of his own rotted soul.

Tonight he happens to be wearing an old favorite cologne, one with subtle, dark tones of anise and orchid. It’s inviting, intoxicating—or so he’s been told by several victims before he eventually sank his claws into them.

“Kim Junmyeon,” a voice calls out, “over here Junmyeon!” 

The owner of the voice waves at him from across the room. A man with a closely shaved buzz-cut and thick glasses smiles at him. His features are almost cherubic, Suhø thinks, with his wide eyes, round cheeks, and heart-shaped smile. He also smells strongly of honey, milk, and sugar. Suhø smiles and nods his head before walking towards his target of the night, nearly drooling as the smell only increases with every step. 

#  **✖✖✖**

Do Kyungsoo is, according to his online dating profile, three years younger than Suhø (or three years younger than Suhø was when he died). He has two poodles, is an active member of his church choir, played small parts in several successful TV shows during his younger years, and loves to cook more than anything else—so much so that, as Suhø learns during their conversation, that he turned down a starring role in a major network show in order to shadow a world-renowned chef and pursue culinary school.

“Really?” Suhø asks, earning him a nod from Do Kyungsoo in response. “But the actor who ended up with the role—I think his name is Kim Jongmin, or something—is so famous now. I can’t go one day without seeing his face all over my Twitter feed. Don’t you regret it?” Suhø has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. Regret, he’s found, can be a stepping stone towards feelings like resentment and anger. Even a poodle-owning church singer can be corrupted if they let such feelings take over. It speeds up the whole corrupting business with little work involved on Suhø’s end—the quicker it starts, the less time Suhø has to spend on fucking someone that smells like roadkill.

“Actually it’s Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, “and if I’m being entirely honest… no, I don’t really regret it. Being an actor was never a long-term goal of mine, I think.” 

Suhø mentally curses.

“In fact, I recommended him for the part,” Kyungsoo continues. “We’re friends, and he was struggling trying to break into the industry, so I used what little connections I had to get him an audition and before you know it, he’s the lead actor for a musical teen dramedy series.” Kyungsoo chuckles, a fond smile on his face.

Suhø chuckles as well, out of politeness. He was once a struggling actor himself, years and years ago. Except he didn’t have ‘connections’ in the industry, often skipping classes and coming close to failing one entirely just to attend as many auditions as he possibly could and pissing off his parents in the process. His ‘big break,’ so to speak, came in the form of an indie movie—a passion project directed by a friend attending the same film school as him. Shot entirely in black-and-white, it told the story of a man at the end of his ropes, doing whatever it took for him to realize his dreams regardless of consequence. It ended up being a hit at the major festivals, with Suhø’s performance lauded in every single review. 

And all it cost was his soul.

“Junmyeon?” 

Suhø blinks, suddenly aware of the confused man in front of him staring with concern etched into his soft features. “I’m- I’m sorry, I must have drifted off for a bit. I’ve been really busy lately.”

“Ah, I see,” Kyungsoo nods. “It must be hard having to look after so many kids all the time.”

Kids?  _ What kids _ , Suhø thinks. “... Excuse me?” 

“At the… daycare,” Kyungsoo says carefully, just as confused as Suhø is. “You work at the daycare on 3rd and 4th street, right? Like what it says on your profile?”

Ah. The dating profile. 

Demons like Suhø are created for the purposes of corruption, to  _ persuade _ . The methods they use to do so are completely up to them. Suhø, for example, has found the most useful method of all to be the honey trap. It’s a rather simple procedure, consisting of him enchanting his earthly appearance (or rather, asks a higher level demon to do so for him, much to his chagrin) and all things relating to it—social media accounts, temporary housing if needed, etc.—to reflect whatever his target desires most in a partner. 

Instead of Suhø’s signature red hair and the deep scar underneath his blue eyes, they see brown locks styled up with pounds of gel, or dark eyes full of promise and innocence, depending on their preference. In the past he’s been everything from a respectable, sweater-wearing novelist, to a leather-loving professional dominant. 

And he always,  _ always _ double-checks what kind of persona he’d be taking on before meeting with a target, and he wants to skin himself for forgetting to do so right before meeting with his most important one tonight.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Suhø says in a rush, suddenly feeling warm as he puts his years of acting classes to use. “It has been very busy as of late. A lot of our staff are young high school and college kids trying to focus more on school now, you see. Not to mention all the new parents that have been coming in to sign up while we’re understaffed.” 

Kyungsoo nods and takes a sip of his water. For some reason, Suhø feels as if it’s a test. “It does sound stressful. As much as I love children, I don’t know if I’d be able to deal with so many of them on a daily basis.” 

“It can’t be as bad as working in the restaurant industry,” Suhø says, desperate to shift the topic elsewhere. “I’m sure you have your own stress to worry about, what with you shadowing a head chef in a five-star restaurant and all.”

Kyungsoo groans. “Don’t remind me.”

They continue talking for what feels like hours, about Kyungsoo’s career path, his aspirations, his hobbies, his fears. Suhø pays close attention the entire time, looking for any detail he could use to potentially corrode his soul. It’s a shame, Suhø thinks—he’ll sorely miss the sugary sweet scent that emanates off Kyungsoo. It’s strongest when Kyungsoo talks about his friends, his family, his pups—he smells almost like an ice cream parlor when he does so. Suhø wants to swallow him whole.

“You’re a very good listener, Kim Junmyeon,” Kyungsoo says, cutting up what little of his steak dinner remains. Suhø’s own salad remains virtually untouched. 

“Am I now? I think I just like listening to the sound of your voice, Do Kyungsoo,” Suhø says. Kyungsoo smiles bashfully, and Suhø feels a sense of victory at that. 

“You have a very pretty voice yourself. It’s funny, I-” Kyungsoo pauses, his mouth twisting. “Actually, I probably shouldn’t say it.”

“Say… what?” Suhø squints, on edge. 

“It’s just that when you walked in, with your red hair pointed up like that and wearing that velvet suit of yours, I wasn’t expecting you to be so… courteous, I suppose.”

Suhø’s blood runs cold. He… in Kyungsoo’s eyes, his appearance… hasn’t  _ changed _ ? “I see. Well, looks can be deceiving,” he chuckles, his tongue heavy. 

“They sure can be. Though I must admit,” Kyungsoo’s voice drops in pitch, his hand reaching across the table to lightly touch Suhø’s, “there’s something quite… alluring about it.”

For the first time since he became a demon, Suhø is at a loss for words. How can Kyungsoo, a mortal with the sweetest scent he’s ever encountered, see his true form? Why can Kyungsoo see his true form? It can’t be that this—demonic, unnatural looking Suhø—is what Kyungsoo desires most of all.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this since you came over here,” Kyungsoo continues regardless of Suhø’s silence, “but your cologne smells quite lovely as well. Correct me if I’m wrong, but is that orchid and… “

“Anise,” Suhø finishes, wary. 

Kyungsoo smiles, and it’s different from the rounder, softer ones he’s been displaying all night. It’s almost sinister. 

“It suits you.”

#  **✖✖✖**

It's Suhø who kisses first, his body pressed up against Kyungsoo’s the second the elevator doors closed. It’s rough and uncoordinated, with Suhø awkwardly smashing into Kyungsoo’s glasses until Kyungsoo finally pockets them. Suhø’s panicked, hands gripping the back of Kyungsoo’s neck as he nips at Kyungsoo’s bottom lip and swallows the moan he elicits from him—he fucking  _ needs _ this soul.

When they reach the floor of the room Suhø booked for the night, he’s practically dragging Kyungsoo towards it, his judgement clouded by nerves and only the slightest bit of lust. 

Perhaps if Suhø weren’t so caught up in his own head, in his anxieties, in his fears, he’d realize that it’s rather out of character for poodle-owning, church singer Kyungsoo to readily follow a man he’s just met that night up to a hotel room. 

When they reach Suhø’s room, it’s Kyungsoo who has him pressed up against the door as soon as it closes shut behind them. It’s Kyungsoo who bites Suhø’s lower lip and causes Suhø to shudder against him. 

Kyungsoo kisses and licks against Suhø’s jawline, his hands strong and firm as they grasp Suhø’s hips and trap him against the door. Suhø can only grip the sleeves of Kyungsoo’s sweater, gasping when he nips at Suhø’s ear.

" You know,” Kyungsoo purrs in Suhø’s ear, his voice as rich as chocolate, “you’re a very hard person to find.” 

“You- what do you mean?” Suhø can hardly think with Kyungsoo’s hot breath on his neck, Kyungsoo’s leg in between his, the scent of sugar and honey and milk heavy in the air.

“You see, there’s been a strange phenomena happening around here lately.” Kyungsoo starts grinding his leg against Suhø’s crotch, and Suhø has to bite his lip to keep from moaning obscenities. “Lots of… sexual related deaths.”

“What the fuck are you- oh  _ fuck _ .” Before Suhø can utter another word, Kyungsoo is palming the front of his pants, teasing. 

“Of course, that’s not entirely uncommon,” Kyungsoo continues, rubbing Suhø over his pants. “But the sheer amount was strange. The first one was many, many years ago. A man found naked and dead in his bed. Then a second one, and it just so happens to be another man naked and dead in bed. Then another, and another, all spaced out long enough so that it wouldn’t cause alarm.”

Suhø’s head spins, overwhelmed by the sickly sweet air nearly choking him, only barely registering the sound of his zipper opening as he struggles to keep his eyes open. 

“Then, all of a sudden, multiple deaths occur all in the same area in the span of several months. Almost as if someone was… in a rush? Over-eager? Expectant?”

Kyungsoo slips a hand down Suhø’s underwear, and the back of Suhø’s head slams against the door as Kyungsoo takes Suhø’s embarrassingly hard dick in his hand.

“You really fucked yourself over with that one, Suhø.” Kyungsoo says.

Suhø’s eyes bulge out of his skull at the sheer mention of his demon name. 

“You… what are you… “

And Kyungsoo actually laughs.  _ Laughs _ in Suhø’s face. “You’re an incubus aren’t you?” He says, and Suhø realizes that even his breath smells like icing and cake batter. “A pretty low level one at that. I’m not at all surprised that this is your first encounter with an archangel.”

He jerks Suhø off hard and fast. It’s dry and borderline painful—and it feels so  _ good _ . The friction burns, and Suhø doesn’t have the time to take in Kyungsoo’s words before he’s coming in his hand. 

Kyungsoo stares for a moment—at the mess in his hand, at Suhø’s heaving chest, the flush of Suhø’s skin—before he laughs again. It’s really starting to piss Suhø off. 

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” 

“I’m a fucking incubus,” Suhø growls, “there’s little I don’t enjoy.”

“Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I tested that theory?” Kyungsoo absentmindedly licks at the come— _ Suhø’s _ come—on his hand, and Suhø swallows. 

“Don’t archangels have better things to do with their time?”

“Perhaps.” Kyungsoo looks into his eyes then. His entire face has changed, Suhø realizes. His features are sharper, more threatening, almost. Kyungsoo leans in close to Suhø’s face, flooding his senses with sugar and honey and milk. His lips almost touch Suhø’s as he speaks. “But this is much more fun.”

Kyungsoo kisses him, slowly, languidly. Suhø whimpers when Kyungsoo sucks at his tongue, his traitorous cock twitching with interest. 

They end up on the bed, Kyungsoo’s knees bracketing either side of Suhø’s body, his hand on Suhø’s still clothed torso. “Kim Junmyeon,” he says, “twenty-eight years old. Part-time waiter and student. Aspiring actor. Died of a sudden heart attack as soon as he caught his big break.”

Suhø shivers when Kyungsoo’s hand touches his neck. He feels exposed, vulnerable, for the first time in the many years he’s been a demon. It’s both unnerving and exciting.

“Except it wasn’t so ‘sudden,’ was it?”

“You’re the archangel here, you tell me,” Suhø bites out. 

“Oh, Suhø,” Kyungsoo coos, patting Suhø’s cheek, “it’s cute how you think you’re still the one in control here.” He grinds his ass against Suhø’s crotch, and Suhø groans. “When you awoke as a demon, you realized that deals with the Devil aren’t so clear-cut, am I right?”

Suhø bites back a whine and attempts to thrust up against Kyungsoo’s soft ass. All it does is cause Kyungsoo to wrap a hand around Suhø’s neck, forcing him back down against the bed. 

“Well?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Well, what.” Suhø coughs out. Kyungsoo’s hand is still around his neck, applying only the slightest pressure.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You sold your soul so that you could break into the industry, expecting to live life as a big-shot actor before dying of natural causes in a condo surrounded by numerous accolades and male models, yes?”

He’s exactly right––even down to the male models––but Suhø would rather be damned a second time than admit that. “Fuck off,” is the intelligent zinger of a comeback he responds with instead. Kyungsoo’s hand tightens a fraction around his neck, and Suhø hates how turned on he is because of it.

“You weren’t expecting to keel over and die the second you got nominated for an award, right? What was it, some rising star award? ‘Rookie to look out for’ award? ‘Most improved hack’ award?”

“You know,” Suhø spits out, “for an archangel, you’re a dick.”

Kyungsoo smiles derisively. “You’re right. As an incubus, that’s your job, right?” With one hand still on Suhø’s neck, he uses the other reaches behind and ever so lightly rakes his nails against Suhø’s now fully hard cock. 

Suhø keens, completely on edge as Kyungsoo applies even more pressure around his neck.

“You’re also doing a pretty bad job at it, might I add,” Kyungsoo continues. He relinquishes his hold on Suhø’s throat, moving his body closer and closer until his knees were on either side of Suho’s head. “I’ve been doing all the work while you, the actual incubus, got to sit back and come. Unfair, don’t you think?”

Suhø swallows nervously. Kyungsoo’s large, dark eyes are looking directly into his own, completely unphased. It’s kind of attractive. 

And hey, if he’s not gonna get a soul tonight, he might as well have fun sucking cock.

Suhø’s hands come up to grip Kyungsoo’s hips and bring him down until his clothed crotch is right in front of his face. He’s hard, Suhø realizes when he unzips Kyungsoo’s slacks. It’s both a relief and a turn-on, knowing that this angel––this paragon of innocence and virtue––is hard because of Suhø. 

Kyungsoo’s cock is thick in his hand, and Kyungsoo moans when Suhø gives a few experimental licks. It’s enough encouragement for him to take the head into his mouth, while his fingertips play with Kyungsoo’s balls.  _ What the fuck _ , Suhø thinks as he sucks at the tip, why does  _ even his dick taste good. _

Kyungsoo is quiet, only letting out soft moans and pants as Suhø takes him deeper into his mouth. It’s a shame he’s not yet at a higher level, really––that would allow him a much longer tongue. 

At some point, between Suhø struggling to control his gag reflex and Kyungsoo gripping his hair to thrust his hips shallowly, Suhø opens his teary eyes and sees Kyungsoo still staring down at him just as intensely. He’s struck with the same sense of vulnerability he felt moments ago, with Kyungoo’s hand wrapped tightly around his throat.

“I think I’m starting to get why so many people would be willing to die because of you,” Kyungsoo whispers. Before Suhø can fully comprehend the weight of his words, Kyungsoo’s using both index fingers to pry Suhø’s mouth even wider. Kyungsoo’s thrusts are faster, eyes transfixed on his cock disappearing into Suhø’s mouth. 

Suhø chokes when the head of his cock hits the back of his throat, drool spilling from the sides of his mouth. His own cock is painfully hard, restrained in the confines of his pants. And there's nowhere else he’d rather be.

Kyungsoo comes with a grunt, Suhø’s face fully pressed against Kyungsoo’s crotch as he overwhelms Suhø’s senses with his saccharine scent again. Maybe once he gets his horns, Kyungsoo could grip those while he shoots his load down Suhø’s throat next time, he thinks. 

Suhø swallows every drop, rolls some of it around on his tongue as he savors the taste. Kyungsoo watches him briefly, shoving two of his fingers into Suhø’s mouth and chuckling when Suhø instinctively sucks on them in response. 

He whines when Kyungsoo retracts them, still unbearably hard in his pants. 

“As fun as this has been, Kim Junmyeon,” Kyungsoo says, “I do, in fact, have other things to be doing.” 

It takes less than a minute for Kyungsoo to tuck his cock back into his pants and get off the bed, Suhø staring in confusion all the while. 

“Oh don’t look so put out,” Kyungsoo says, patting Suhø’s cheek as he does so. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”

And just like that, archangel Do Kyungsoo walks out the door, and Suhø’s sure he hears a  _ ‘Good luck on getting that last soul of yours’ _ in the distance. 

It’s quiet for a moment, Suhø staring open-mouthed at the door, at the tent in his pants, at the door, then back at his tent. The scent of sugar and milk and honey lingers in the air. It’s in that moment, when he sighs and sticks his hand down his pants, that Suhø comes to two conclusions: 1) that he should avoid archangel Do Kyungsoo all costs and 2) that he really,  _ really _ hates sweet things.


End file.
